FREE STORY WITH EXCLUSIVE CONTENT. This is *not* a Paid Story.
Eighteen-year-old hockey prodigy Elliot Wexler has three goals for senior year. One: somehow graduate with a 3.5 GPA. Two: hide his bipolar disorder from his peers. And three: make it in...
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STARBUCKS IS THE last place anyone would ever expect to see me, but that's what makes this perfect.
Tucked near the back of the café, steam lifts from the two paper cups of hot chocolate I bought. I shift in the cyan armchair and shred a napkin into a pile on the table. Elliot should have been here five minutes ago, and each minute the clock ticks magnifies my unease.
Under the eventide light of the café, everyone seems so content. A group of girls my age giggle as they wait in line, and snippets of their conversation reach my ears. Boys, school, he said, she said. They sound so dumb, but I'm jealous of the simplicity. Must be nice.
Come on, El, where are you?
The doorbell jingles, and Elliot walks in. I suck in a breath. His face is flushed from the cold, and when he finds me, he looks like he's seen a ghost. I focus on my napkin until his voice strikes me like lightning.
"Hey." He sits across from me, and I force myself to meet his stare. His ocean eyes are so familiar, yet so much has changed in them. There's no warmth or affection, only confusion, hurt, and anger. Like they've had oil spilled in them. His near-black hair sticks in sweaty pieces down his forehead, and there are deep bags on his skin. Seeing him like this is a punch straight to the gut.
Still, I squeak out a, "Hi."
He nods at the cup. "What's this?"
"Hot chocolate. That's kind of our thing, right?"
"I didn't realize we had a thing."
His hostility is justified, but that doesn't change how much it stings. "You're mad at me."
Elliot crosses his arms over his jacket, the same one he gave me when we first met. "Yeah, a little. I guess I should've known better. We don't know each other. Fuck, I don't even know what your last name is."
My stomach flips. "Do you regret it?"
"No. Not like I was wearing my virginity around as a badge or anything." Elliot goes silent before he says, "You know, I actually thought we had something."
"We did."
"Bullshit. Did you even like me at all?"
"Of course I did." Do. I still do.
"You say that like I should've known or something." We're silent for several moments. Elliot takes off his toque and throws it on the table. Rubbing his eyes with his palms, he says, "There's got to be something wrong with me."
"What do you mean?"
"I repel people. Everyone I've ever known has just... ricocheted off me."
Without thinking, I reach across the table and grab his hands, touching his familiar, warm skin. He jolts, but doesn't pull away, so I smooth my thumb along his. "You didn't repel me. That's not what happened."
